8. Grand Aurum Exhibition.
I know I’m late, but we had guests at home because of the heavy rain, cloudburst, and flooding in the Tawi. Our relatives’ house was completely waterlogged, so everyone shifted to our place. I just hope all of you are safe too. Please take care and stay safe.
Also avoid the mistakes in this chapter, as I haven't checked it even once. ( Even forget Yugant Jewellery company name if yk plz mention in comment)
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Morning came, but I swear I hadn’t slept more than two hours. My soul had nearly packed its bags and leftlast night, thanks to a certain hurricane who thinks midnight balcony strolls are just another bedtime routine.
Now I was at the dining table, clutching my black coffee like it was life support. And there she was, right beside me, not eating breakfast but performing open-heart surgery on it.
Instead of eating like a normal human being, Dhwani was separating every single crumb of her moong dal chilla as if auditioning for the “World’s Most Patient Lunatic” award.
First peeling the crisp layer, then poking at the paneer stuffing, then arranging little piles on her plate, like Picasso trying to paint with food.
I stared. Does she have a loose wire in her head? Half-mind? Or is this some enlightened meditative practice the world hasn’t discovered yet?
The more I try to understand her, the more she shows me a new face every damn day. Yesterday she was an artist. Last night, a sleepwalking ghost. Today… a food scientist dissecting paneer. What’s next? Exorcism at noon?
Leaving her home alone is basically leaving a bomb ticking in the living room. What if she climbs the chandelier today? Or decide to bathe in the fountain? Nope. Not again.
I cleared my throat, loudly. Nothing. She kept peeling, poking, arranging.
I tried again. Louder. Still nothing.
Finally, I snapped-- “Dhwani.”
Her head jerked up at last, honey-brown eyes blinking, brows arched like What now, cranky old man?
My patience snapped. “You’re coming to the office with me.”
Her spoon froze midair. Blink. Blink. Then, instant drama.
She shook her head violently, like a toddler refusing vegetables.
When I didn’t react, she stomped her foot under the table.
Still no reaction from me. So she pointed to her plate, widening her eyes like See?
I’m busy with my Michelin-starred chilla autopsy, can’t come.
I glared, sipping my coffee as if it could save me from strangling her. “Yes. Pack your things, mute hurricane. I’m not leaving you here to scare the hell out of me again.”
She huffed, puffed her cheeks like an angry squirrel. She won’t let me have peace. Not in this house atleast.
“Dhwani, you’re coming with me. You stay bored the whole day at home,” I said, trying to sound reasonable, not desperate.
She paused mid-bite, those honey-brown eyes narrowing in thought. Then she raised one hand, curled her fingers as if holding a brush, and made little strokes in the air.
I blinked. “What?”
She repeated the gesture, slower this time, then pointed at me, then at the table, then back to her imaginary brush. Finally, she tapped her chin and tilted her head, waiting.
Colors. Of course. She wanted her paints.
I dragged a hand down my face. This girl. Even in silence, she finds a way to corner me. Exhaling, I muttered, “Fine. You’ll get what you want there.”
Instant sunshine, her lips curved into a bright smile, and she nodded like a satisfied queen who’d just struck a deal.
I sipped my coffee, already regretting it. Who was I kidding? In this house, she does the convincing. I just sign the paperwork.
“Let’s go,” I said, standing from the table and grabbing my overcoat.
She looked down at her plate, then up at me, then back at her plate again, pointing as if to say, I’m not done yet.
I rolled my eyes, snatched a sheet of food paper, and quickly wrapped her breakfast. “No more delays,” I muttered, tucking it into her hand as I lifted her from her chair with my other arm and set her firmly on her feet.
I guided her out, holding her arm tightly. She started nibbling as we walked, like this was some picnic instead of me being late for a meeting.
Outside, Ishaan was already waiting by the car, hands folded, his usual patient-but-suspicious look plastered on his face.
I opened the back door, giving Dhwani a little nudge. She slid in gracefully, still chewing, ignoring everything else around her.
“Sir,” Ishaan asked, lowering his voice, “do we need to drop her somewhere?”
“She’s coming with us. Office,” I said flatly.
His head whipped toward me. “What? Office?” His voice almost cracked. “Why?!”
“Because,” I snapped, tugging my coat straight, “I can’t leave her at home alone. She won’t let me focus on work.”
Ishaan leaned closer, his voice pitched with disbelief. “Sir, you know it’s not safe to take anyone to our office. Forget strangers, even our own people aren’t always allowed everywhere—”
I cut him off with a sharp look. “Exactly. It’s not safe to take anyone.
But tell me, Ishaan–” I gestured toward the backseat where Dhwani was happily biting into her breakfast roll, crumbs sticking to her lips, blissfully unaware of the conversation–“do you really think she looks mindful enough to be dangerous?”
Ishaan’s mouth opened, then shut again. He turned, stared at her silently for a few seconds, then sighed. “…No. Definitely not, but still…”
“Good. Then drive,” I ordered, sliding beside Dhwani.
.
.
.
.
The car rolled past the heavy gates of my office compound, guards saluting as Ishaan drove in. Beside me, Dhwani pressed her face almost to the window, her eyes wide and shimmering with curiosity. She was staring at the glass-and-steel building as if it were some enchanted palace.
I exhaled. She’s just a child… That wonder in her eyes, that excitementit almost made me forget the sleepless night and the headache she’d gifted me.
We parked, stepped out, and started walking inside. She was still craning her neck, gawking up at the tower, oblivious to where her feet were going. “God, please, just don’t let her fall–”
And then she fell.
Her knee hit the stone ground with a sharp smack. She gasped, no sound, but her face twisted in pain.
“Fuck,” I cursed, instantly kneeling beside her. My hands caught her shoulders, steadying her as I looked down. The skin of her knee was grazed, blood already seeping.
Her eyes turned glassy, tears welling but not falling, staring at the red mark like the world had betrayed her.
“Dhwani,” I said low, trying to keep my voice steady. She looked up at me, those wide, pained eyes making my chest feel like it was being squeezed.
I brushed her hair back, my gaze slipping unwillingly over her, tank top hugging her frame, skirt brushing against her thighs, hair loose and wild around her face. She looked so damn pretty… even now, even hurt. And I hated myself for noticing.
“You always have to make a scene, don’t you?” I muttered, pulling out my handkerchief. My fingers worked quickly, dabbing the blood.
I blew gently on her scraped knee, watching the blood smear faintly under my breath. “I’ll bandage it inside. Can you walk?”
She shook her head immediately, lips pressed together, eyes shining with tears.
I exhaled sharply. Damn it. I hated this, how a single drop of her tears could bend me faster than any corporate deal ever could. My shoulders slumped, and before I could argue with myself, I bent down and scooped her into my arms.
The moment I did, she clung to me, arms looped tight around my neck, face buried against my collar.
I glanced up, straight into Ishaan’s wide eyes. He was shocked. And behind him, two security guards stood frozen, gawking at their boss carrying a girl like she was made of glass.
My jaw ticked. Their stares burned holes into my back, but I kept moving, her weight light and steady in my arms. She couldn’t be more than forty kilos, feather-light.
As we walked through the lobby, I caught the receptionist staring, mouth parted, pen hanging midair as though time had stopped. Every pair of eyes seemed locked on me judging, curious, whispering. Great. Now the office rumor mill will eat me alive.
I didn’t care. Or at least I told myself that.
I pushed into my private elevator and jabbed the 34th-floor button with my free hand. Just before Ishaan could follow, the doors slid shut in his face. Good. I couldn’t deal with his interrogation right now.
The moment we were sealed in that steel box, Dhwani’s grip tightened. Her fingers dug into the back of my neck, her face pressing against me as if the walls were closing in. Her breath warmed the crook of my throat, fast and uneven.
My brow furrowed. “Does she also have claustrophobia?” I muttered under my breath.
Because the way she clung to me… she wasn’t just holding. She was trembling.
I shifted her slightly, my arm tightening protectively. Her hair brushed my jaw, her heartbeat quick against my chest.
And my own heart, damn traitor, wasn’t far behind.
As the elevator chimed and the doors slid open, I strode straight into my floor, ignoring the stares that followed me. My cabin door shut behind us with a heavy click, sealing the world outside.
I lowered her onto the couch, her legs brushing against the cushions. Her whole face was slick with sweat, strands of hair sticking to her temple. Her lips trembled faintly, as though she had run a marathon inside her own head.
Claustrophobia. Of course. I should have guessed.
But right now, I couldn’t push her with questions. She already looked like a fragile glass, one wrong word and she might shatter.
I fetched the first aid box from my drawer and sat beside her, pulling her small legs carefully onto my knees. The wound was angry red, blood caked at the edges. I dabbed it with Dettol-soaked cotton.
But she didn’t reactes
Her face stayed still, blank, as if her mind was somewhere far away. Even when I pressed a little harder to test, she didn’t react.
I applied ointment leaving her wound open for air, the cut wasn’t deep, it would heal faster uncovered. But I couldn’t stop glancing at her face. That stillness wasn’t peace; it was shock.
I set the box aside and gently took her wrist in my hand. “Dhwani…”
Her eyes flicked up to mine, wide, watery. And before I could say more, she leaned forward and buried her face in my chest.
My breath caught.
For a moment, I froze, hand hovering stupidly in the air. Then instinct overrode hesitation, and my arm slid around her waist, pulling her closer. She shifted onto my lap, curling against me as if it was the only safe place she knew.
Her warmth pressed into me, small and trembling. The faint rise and fall of her shoulders against my chest made something inside me twist painfully.
“Are you claustrophobic?” I asked, voice lower than I intended, but she shook her head.
If she isn’t claustrophobic… then why is she scared?
“It’s okay,” I murmured, holding her closer. “You’re safe here.”
She nodded, but didn’t move away, still clinging to me as if I was the only ground she trusted.
Her nails dug lightly into the side of my neck, not deep, but just enough to send a shock straight to my spine.
God, that single press of her fingertips made my mind go places it shouldn’t.
I shouldn’t be imagining those same nails dragging down my back, leaving marks only I could see, but that’s exactly where my thoughts went.
My hand slid instinctively, resting on her thigh. Her skirt had ridden higher than I wanted it to, bare skin teasing me with every second. My eyes betrayed me, drinking her in, shameless, tracing the curve of her thigh upward until I had to drag my gaze away before I did something reckless.
Still, the warmth of her skin under my palm made my breath heavy. My other arm circled her waist, bare, smooth, delicate, and I felt the heat radiating from her body straight into mine. She pressed closer, as if she had no idea what kind of fire she was stoking inside me.
But I stayed there, jaw clenched, body burning, drowning in fantasies I had no right to have. She was innocent, untouched, and I was losing myself piece by piece just by holding her.
Before I lost my self-control completely, I eased her off my lap, guiding her gently back onto the couch. She blinked up at me, those doe-like eyes soft and questioning, as if she hadn’t the faintest clue what kind of fire she was playing with.
“I’ve got a meeting,” I said, my tone firmer than I felt. “You just stay here. I’ll be back in a couple of hours, okay?”
She nodded once, obedient, but the way she tilted her head, almost childlike, made my chest tighten.
“You don’t leave this cabin. I’ll tell someone to bring you food every hour,” I continued, trying to sound practical instead of… desperate. “I’ll be back in two hours. Just wait.”
For a moment she stayed still, then raised her hand and traced a little gesture in the air, her fingertip moving in soft strokes, as if holding an invisible brush.
Of course. Painting. She wanted her colors.
I exhaled and turned toward my desk. Opening the drawer, I pulled out the set of paints, brushes, and a sketchpad I kept for idle scribbles. Walking back to her, I placed everything carefully in her lap.
Her face lit up instantly, that quiet smile tugging at her lips, the kind of smile that made me wonder if she even knew what she was doing to me.
“Happy now?” I muttered, but my hand lingered just a little too long over hers as I passed the brushes.
.
.
.
.
The boardroom carried a certain weight today, the kind that pressed on your shoulders before anyone even spoke.
The Raizaada crest shimmered against the far wall, a reminder of the bloodline I was protecting.
The long table stretched in front of me, mahogany polished to perfection, lined with the people I trusted most: Ishaan at my right, four senior designers, and two operations heads.
Every single one of them had worked with me long enough.
I leaned back in my chair, scanning the faces. “So,” I said evenly, “one month left. Talk.”
Ishaan opened his laptop, eyes sharp. “The Grand Aurum Exhibition. One month from now. We all know what’s at stake. Two hundred companies, over fifty countries. But only ten will matter on stage, and we need to be the one they don’t forget.”
The name hung in the air. Aurum. Even thinking it made my jaw tighten.
Five years ago, my father had poured his soul into it, sketches, prototypes, a masterpiece of a collection.
Hours before the showcase, the designs had been leaked.
Stolen. I’d seen the defeat in his eyes, the quiet shame of watching another house flaunt what was ours.
That loss had aged him ten years in one night.
This year, this project, this was mine. My redemption. His dream, resurrected. And failure wasn’t an option.
One of the designers, Charvi, slid a file across the table. “The Rajgira Collection. Stones sourced from Kashmir, cut in Antwerp, crafted with Jaipur meenakari detailing. Bold but elegant. These pieces are built for headlines.”
I flipped through the sketches. They were good, damn good. But good wasn’t enough.
“They’ll talk,” I said flatly. “But will they remember? Five years from now, will people still recall these designs? Or will they fade like another pretty face?”
Charvi pressed her lips tight but nodded.
Arvind, one of my senior strategists, leaned in. “We could play on heritage. Showcase the Raizaada dynasty’s roots, combine ancient royal motifs with modern minimalism. Everyone else is chasing futuristic trends. We can stand apart by going backwards.”
Another scoffed. “Heritage is safe. But safe doesn’t win Aurum. They want spectacle. We need one showstopper piece that makes every billionaire’s wife gasp at once. Something impossible to replicate.”
The debate sparked, voices overlapping. Ishaan finally cut in, “All this means nothing if the designs don’t survive the month.
Last time we failed because we underestimated our enemies.
This year, we assume every rival wants to see us burn.
We work in silos. We encrypt every file. No paper sketches leave this building.”
“Even employees?” one asked cautiously.
“Especially employees,” I said. My tone was sharper than I intended, but I didn’t pull it back. “One leak, one whisper, and I swear I’ll tear down whoever’s responsible myself.”
I steepled my hands, watching them. “We’re not just making jewellery. We’re creating a spectacle. And Raizaada doesn’t lose twice.”
Heads nodded. Determined faces. Loyal, but wary. They knew what I didn’t say aloud: this month would test all of us. Every sketch, every mold, every stone had to be guarded like crown jewels.
I exhaled slowly, dragging my focus back. “Listen carefully,” I said. “For the next thirty days, Raizaada Emporium breathes only Aurum. No distractions. No mistakes. We win this, or we lose everything.”
The room nodded in unison, the tension sharp enough to cut glass.
Two hours. That’s how long the meeting dragged, debates, strategies, contingency plans.
By the time I finally leaned back in my chair and dismissed the room, my throat felt like sandpaper and my head like a war drum.
Thinking, what she had turned my cabin into.
I turned the handle, pushed the door openand my eyes nearly shot out of their sockets.
What. The. Hell.
My cabin, which had housed boardroom files, first edition books, and more awards than I cared to count, was now an explosion. A crime scene. A rainbow apocalypse.
°°°
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